


Though She Be Little

by highinfibre



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Branwen Cooper (OC), Gen, Ingmar (OC), aka me being soft for 800 words, baby surprises her viking uncle for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 10:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highinfibre/pseuds/highinfibre
Summary: Fat cheeks framed a mouth opening and closing at its own leisure, and the beginnings of a dark head of curls.She was very small.Ingmar might have gone so far as to say puny - but he couldn’t make a fair judgement, on account of the swaddling.





	Though She Be Little

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaughtyBees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/gifts).

The talk of Alison and Michael's pregnancy had been the talk of the house since the couple has shared the big news. Discussion had ranged to anything from excitement, to names (almost all ghostly suggestions had been vetoed) , to grumbled complaints about the inevitable sleepless nights. One ever present topic had been the offering of parenting advice; Alison, unprepared and shaken at the prospect of motherhood, had made the mistake of speaking to Pat within everyone else’s earshot. 

The other Ghosts had overheard. 

The other Ghosts had taken it upon themselves to over deliver. 

None of Ingmar's suggestions had made the cut - he couldn't imagine why - but most of Fanny's had been written off too, so he couldn't be too offended. It just meant that, once the new Cooper child returned to Button House, he felt the need to investigate. Expression pensive, he made his way through the halls. The hour wasn't late, yet even so, there was a strange air of quiet within these parts of the walls. Presumably, the others were elsewhere - busy, no doubt - yet it felt odd that nothing but his measured gait should disturb the house's atmosphere. Quiet as he was, Ingmar had always felt most at ease in a group. 

Still, he had somewhere to be, a task to complete, and he could only be thankful that his large strides would make quick work of the corridor to Alison and Michael's bedroom. Not one for knocking (he was physically incapable, what was the point) he strode straight through the door. 

The bedroom was devoid of anyone - not unusual at this hour - save for the odd quiet gurgle coming from the basket in the far corner. Ingmar frowned. His darkened brow knitted together. It was strange, he thought. All the fuss that had been made in rejecting ‘unsafe’ advice, yet here the child had been left to fend for herself[1] . Was it some sort of test? Ingmar made his way over, looming over the child so as to inspect her. Branwen, that had been the name settled upon. The body it was attached to, currently, was composed only of a round face poking out of the muslin she’d been carefully wrapped in. Fat cheeks framed a mouth opening and closing at its own leisure, and the beginnings of a dark head of curls.

She was very small. 

Ingmar might have gone so far as to say puny - but he couldn’t make a fair judgement, on account of the swaddling. He leant in a little closer, once-hot breath ghosting over her. 

“Were the world how I left it, you would be left to die.” He spoke plainly, matter of fact in his admission. “Too small.  _ Litla mús _ .” 

Young Branwen let out a gurgle. A low chuckle rumbled through Ingmar’s chest. He had spoken more in the past minute then he had all week. To a baby only half the size his Frøya had been at her age. 

Ingmar rarely let himself question his continued existence, but today he allowed himself to wonder just what had brought him to this. It brought a half smile to his face, pensive, as he stared off into the middle distance. 

How things changed. 

A sharp feeling of nausea quickly brought him from his reverie. His eyes darted, hunting for the cause until his attention was drawn back to what was right in front of him. In the few seconds his attention had been lost, young Branwen hand not only wrestled one arm free, but she was waving it determinedly through Ingmar’s beard. A familiar, phantom pain flared back in his chin - children seemed to enjoy the pull of a long beard - and, at a loss for a better reaction, Ingmar felt himself laugh. 

It was great and booming, the volume taking him aback. Were he able to, he would have clapped a hand against the canopy of the basket in his mirth. 

“You’re stronger than I thought.” He conceded, his teeth bared in a grin. “Well done,  _ mús _ .” 

Branwen’s eyes were bright as an infant’s could be, and they were set directly on Ingmar. Her lips parted, letting out a toothless mewl. Whether it was in triumph or in frustration at the loss, Ingmar couldn’t say, but he knew the makings of a battle cry when he heard one. 

“You will make a fierce warrior.” He stated. 

A sense of warmth settled within him and, indeed, a new sense of strength seemed to radiate from within. Branwen would be strong. He would make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 There was, in fact, a small camera and baby monitor connected to an app on the phone’s of both parents. Ingmar, a Viking, had not noticed this, and the concept of an ‘app’ had yet to enter his realm of consciousness.


End file.
